One Perfect Date
by Thirth Floor
Summary: Ten years since the apocalypse was avoided, and ten years since they had last spoken. Aziraphale and Crowley had agreed to keep their distances. When a chance meeting reminds them of what they had missed, a playful opportunity emerges; to try something new, and go on one perfect date. But what if their definitions of perfect are not the same? And what happens when the date is over?
1. Chapter 1

**1.**

It was uncharacteristically sunny on Thursday, March twentieth. The sky was blue, and the clouds were puffy and white – not a grey sheet over the sky of London, or all of Great Britain for that matter. And some of the English men and women in the city were so frightened of the change that they instead chose to take the day to stay home. The children (whose parents allowed them outside on this strange day) went to school with glee, but the general population of the workforce stayed inside, making business slow and the whole day one fitting for a good nap. Around 11 am, the adults began to realise wat a silly thing this was, and now chose to take advantage of their day off and go outside for a pleasant stroll or a day to mingle with the tourists.

The Fallen Leaves Flower Shop – a terribly long name, but delightfully ironic in the owner's opinion – had seen its regular business despite the day. The clientele was generally not afraid of nature, although there were far more mothers present today than confused middle aged businessmen trying to spruce up the décor for a bland dinner. There were currently two customers present, a mother and her young daughter. They were admiring the lilacs in the outdoor patio, the little girl exclaiming something like excitement in her pre-toddler language that by some maternal link, the mother understood. It sounded something like "eegyah!", but to the mother, it meant, "Oh mother! These lilacs smell so wonderful, I wonder how it is that they are so fragrant compared to the ones in our garden. Can we go look at the tulips too, please?"

From inside the shop, the demon Crowley was keeping a sharp eye on the pair. Yes, he respected his customers, but he'd had too many an incident of young children plucking his flowers from their pots or traipsing through the beds to be able to rest easy when they went into the patio. But the interior of the shop was humid and hot, and he kept getting distracted by a particularly persistent chunk of hair that got too close to sticking to his forehead. Recently he'd decided to start growing it out again, and it was nearly to his chin now. Unfortunately, growing out a quiff meant dealing with particularly persistent, fluffy bangs that the barber insisted were necessary to keep.

Someone had entered the shop a few moments ago, but they were alone and seemed lost and confused amidst the flora, so Crowley elected to wait the obligatory few moments before asking if the customer needed assistance to avoid calling them out on their out-of-placeness. Best to not seem _too_ helpful, but prove to be enough to keep up the reputation of the finest flowers and houseplants in all of London. Instead, Crowley glared at a snapdragon that seemed a tad wilted. The plant straightened on the spot, reaching its little leaves out as far as it could to appear flourishing.

Crowley was just looking up to give an only slightly peppy, "Can I help you with anything?" when the soothing hum of the humidifiers was interrupted by a _CRASH!_ from the far end of the shop. This was followed by the slightly less audible gasps of the surrounding plants.

His gaze was drawn first to the small, innocent pansy on the ground. Its pot had shattered, and it was leaning so close to the ground that it felt trampled already. Crowley let out a sigh and went to the poor plant's aid. It hadn't deserved this, and he refrained from scolding it since the pansies always did work so hard.

"Don't worry about it. You can go pick another one, just please be more careful next… time." Crowley had scooped the pansy into his hands when he noticed the dirt on the man's shoe in front of him. It was a shoe that was not supposed to have dirt on it, even on the bottom. It was an expensive dress shoe, slightly lighter than mahogany brown, and instantly Crowley knew the size and model of said shoe. Also, that the foot that he was looking at was nearly – only nearly – half a size smaller than the other. He suddenly had the feeling that one has when they had a word on the tip of their tongue for an entire day and only remembered it when no one was around to care. The familiar feeling he'd sensed now had a face – or a foot, as at the moment he was still looking down – an all at once he wanted to sigh in relief and groan in frustration. So instead as a compromise, he rolled his eyes and looked up.

"Aziraphale?"

The angel's expression could have been the picture in the dictionary next to the word "bewilderment". He looked lost, and Crowley watched with a mix of pleasure and confusion as he stumbled over his words. "I… I… Oh dear. I'm sorry." He apology was directed first at Crowley, then repeated to the plant in his hands. As he stood, the demon simply waved his hand and the pot was restored, the pansy inside almost as bewildered as the angel. It was set down in its original spot, and the pansy drooped in relief. No one bothered to learn that it was now terrified of heights.

"What are you doing here? Isn't this – this has got to be at least the opposite side of London for you." Crowley brushed his hair back from his forehead as he spoke as if he didn't know the exact address of Aziraphale's new book shop and flat.

In turn, Aziraphale continued to stammer over his words before taking a steadying breath, saying, "Yes, but… well, I heard that here were the best flowers in London. In Britain, actually. I… I had no idea that you'd be here. I truly didn't. Oh, this is all just a terrible coincidence, I… I'm only here for the flowers. Not you." He felt the need to strongly reiterate that last point.

Crowley blinked at Aziraphale, although his eyes were obscured by the staple dark, circular shades. He was only mildly confused at the cluster of words that had been thrown at him. "Well, of course they're the best, _I_ grew them. Now what on _earth_ could be so important for you that you need the best? You've always been picky but this is… across the city. Inconvenient."

"I…" Aziraphale blushed and fidgeted, "… have an appointment."

"You're bringing flowers… to an appointment?"

"Oh, it shouldn't matter, Crowley! It shouldn't matter what it is, just – just do your job and help me get what I need! You're the florist!" Aziraphale's tone was pleading. In another instance, Crowley might have given in, but he was stubborn and this was nearly irritating.

"Well, I can't help you if I don't know what it is!" He huffed indignantly. "Do you know how many people bring lilies to an anniversary just because they 'look pretty'? I can't have you embarrassing yourself by bringing flowers that represent death to your appointment. Unless it's a funeral. Then it would be quite fitting, rather."

"No, no its not a funeral, it's just…" Aziraphale looked tentatively around the shop. "Nevermind. Perhaps I should just be on my way."

Crowley spat desperately, "Oh, so the best in London isn't good enough for you? No surprise there, nothing I do is ever really _good_ enough for you."

Aziraphale tossed his hands down in defeat. "That's not what I meant! I just… I have… I have a date, alright? And I wanted to bring flowers. Is that so wrong?"

Crowley's head pounded suddenly. "You – you what?"

The angel looked down. "I have a date. And he's very nice, but wants to lead things, I think. Can you help me now?" His cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Um… Er – yeah." Crowley turned away to hide how his own cheeks were ablaze. He began arranging a bouquet from the selections on the wall; simple and understated, but sweet. And he may have gotten a tad carried away, because the entire thing was in the angel's basic colour pallet. He turned around and handed it to Aziraphale, trying to ignore the swell of pride he felt when the angel's expression softened as he took it.

"What's his name?" Crowley prodded, trying to act casual.

Aziraphale caught himself and gulped, worried of what Crowley might do if he knew the name of the human Aziraphale would be meeting. "It's – it's none of your business."

"It's a little suspicious," Crowley then tested, raising an eyebrow. "You know, you going on a date with a fine gent knowing completely well that it won't last. You couldn't possibly be thinking of lying to him long enough to keep a real relationship."

Aziraphale glanced away again, as the thought had crossed his mind too many times. "I'm not truly planning for it to go anywhere. It's just for… for experience. And plus, he asked so nicely, I couldn't turn it down…" He frowned it what was almost a pout. "There's no harm if it just doesn't work out. It'd be natural. Free will and… you know."

"Ineffability and whatnot, yeah right." Crowley tilted his head. "'Just doesn't work out', eh?"

The angel flushed and glared at him. "You know that's not what I mean."

The demon put his hands in his pockets. "Right, right, sorry." He rocked back on his heels and looked at him.

They stared at each other for a moment.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "I should um… pay you for these."

Crowley held up a hand. "Don't. You don't have to."

"But –"

"Special case, okay? And um…" His next words came out stiff and slightly choked. "Good luck on your date."

Aziraphale bit his lip and looked down at the flowers. Something shifted behind his eyes, but Crowley didn't get the chance to see what it was. Oh, if only the angel would look back up at him. "Um… thank you. You have a lovely shop."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"… Are you going to go?"

"Yes, yes, sorry. I'm… on my way now. Thank you again."

"Good day."

"Good day."

'Good day' is such a strange phrase. It is the phrase used among acquaintances – often European – or strangers to translate to, "Thank you politely for this encounter, but I have other more important places to go, or things I'd rather be doing. So, I'm going to end this conversation quickly and with good manners." But in the instance of the angel and the demon, it meant, "Thank you politely for this encounter, but I have other things that may not be as important to do to pretend that this said encounter did not stir up emotions and memories that have been stewing for quite some time now and I was electing to ignore and bury. I'm very uncomfortable and would like time to process this, please and thank you. I'm going to end this conversation quickly and with good manners."

It is a very European phrase, so if you are not European or are and do not use the phrase as often as one may, and do not pick up on the intricacies, you can ignore the last paragraph or so and tell yourself that the chapter ended with the 'Good day's and Aziraphale leaving the shop. Which did happen, followed by Crowley checking to see that the other two customers outside were gone, turning the sign on the shop to "Closed", and proceeding to rant very loudly with very adamant hand gestures to the very frightened and confused flora.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

The next week's Wednesday was a standard overcast London day. The clouds in the sky were less cloud and more just a constant grey sheet, accompanied by an equally grey, but puffy throw blanket covering the sun from the Londoners below. Many more people were out this day, as they were not off put by the perpetual gloominess of the day.

There was a park just on the corner of a quiet intersection, and at another corner of an intersection further down the street, there was a bookshop. The bookshop got much less business than the flower shop on the other end of the city, but it was treasured by the owner and those few who frequented. But our focus now is on the duck pond located within the park on the corner of the quiet intersection, as the bookshop's doors are locked, and the sign turned to "Closed". A note posted in neat, smooth handwriting says that it will be open once the week begins again.

The duck pond was small, with a walkway beside it and a length of grass and a fence separating the walkway from the street. On the bank of the pond, benches were patiently awaiting the company of lovely couples, or more likely, what we will call "pond-sitters". These "pond-sitters" are often those seeking a moment of repose, to contemplate unfortunate or confusing parts of their life with little human company that was present, instead exchanging it for the company of the lovely aquatic birds that had long since made the pond their home. The birds, for one, did not try to offer unwanted advice, or judge the pond-sitters for their woes.

A white-haired angel was among the pond-sitters today. He sat at a bench near the curve of the pond, which on a sunny day would be shaded by the large willow tree whose swaying branches whispered in the breeze. The angel was feeding the ducks with little pieces of bread from a wicker basket that he held in his lap and was thinking very hard about a certain flower shop, a certain person, and a date. Unpacking his thoughts was turning into quite the chore, and his expression remained along the lines of distressed while he sat in silence. Frequently, his thoughts would burst forth in a woebegone rant, startling the ducks but intriguing them enough to stay for more bread. No other visitors to the pond on that Wednesday took any mind, as this was among normal pond-sitter behaviour. They politely ignored the outbursts or were too caught up in their own to bother noticing.

"I don't understand, why now? What divine or… or _ineffable_ coincidence had to make that _his_ flower shop?" Aziraphale heaved in defeat, tossing another piece of bread into the pond. "And why is he being so nice about it all? He must understand that he started this whole mess, doesn't he? Oh, and I know I played a part in it… but this isn't my fault!" Once again, the angel fell into silence as he resumed his more complex judgements in his already distraught mind.

Before he could make sense of a thought concerning the colours yellow and red, Aziraphale let out a startled yelp as someone quite literally flumped onto the bench beside him. His mind did not know whether to panic or relax when he saw a familiar black-clad demon turn his head to face him, dark circular shades glinting almost theatrically. There was a bag of bread in his hand.

"Well this is a… coincidence," Crowley said easily, despite not being able to decide whether to say "happy" or "unpleasant" coincidence, and instead just skipping it altogether. He watched with a slight tickle of amusement as the angel seemed once again at a loss for words.

"Um…um… what are you doing here? This isn't the… where we are… Are supposed to meet. Not that we're supposed to! It's just," Aziraphale found it difficult to handle this turn of events in his already vulnerable emotional state and was too busy feeling like a distressed pond-sitter to acknowledge the embarrassment welling up in the rock of his stomach. "It's just not the normal spot!"

Crowley looked to the pond so that Aziraphale could not see his expression. "It's not? I hadn't noticed."

Aziraphale's nerves had finally recognised that there was no real threat, and he began to calm down. He too looked back to the pond, and tossed a piece of bread to a pretty Mallard duck that had waddled up onto the shore expectantly. "It's not. For one, there's no international spies here."

"That we know of," Crowley mused as he tossed a hearty chunk of bread between three sitting ducks just to watch them fight over it. "They'd be rubbish spies if we knew they were here."

"That is true, yes." After mere seconds of silence that felt like a humiliatingly long pause, Aziraphale blurted out, "You weren't coming to find me, were you?"

"Now why would I do that?" Crowley answered quickly and defensively. "If I wanted to find you, I'd just go to the bookshop. Which I haven't done." Although, it was something on his list of places to go quite soon.

"Oh. Er…" Aziraphale looked down, his expression betraying that he was the slightest bit disappointed. A sentence that he wished would quit echoing through his head broke through again, and he turned his head almost entirely away from Crowley to not put the phrase to the face. _I won't even think about you_. Of course, he had no real reason to. Aziraphale had no reason to then, either. "Of course. Just making sure you weren't… Nosing into business that isn't your own, even though that is what you do."

Crowley grimaced, upset boiling in his chest at the angel not seeming disappointed. Perhaps it was best that he hadn't stopped by, after all. He could have at any time but had chosen instead to respect the angel's distance. Now, that decision seemed best. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Right then. How was your date?"

Aziraphale's shoulders slumped and Crowley sucked in a breath of regret. "Didn't go too well, actually. He said I was boring." He threw a piece of bread a little harder than a pond-sitter should, and it hit a duck squarely in its feathered chest. The angel quickly apologised to the duck as it waddled away in a huff. "He said it nicely, though. And he really liked the flowers… So, thank you. Although, that was all you. That had nothing to do with me." Aziraphale was conflicted. He found that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't help the words from spilling out. And yet, he still found himself stung by the sight of Crowley, his walls still up defiantly no matter how much he almost wanted to knock them down.

Crowley's voice came out soft. "Aw, angel… you're not boring. Six thousand years and you've never once bored me." He looked back towards the pond, cheeks burning and once again regretting his loose tongue.

Aziraphale's tone was distant, and he responded too quickly. His voice was laced with hurt, a forced peppiness showing way to what was underneath. Crowley hated himself for it, even though he understood that now it was not only his fault. "What ever happened to 'I won't even think about you?'"

The question had hung in both of their minds for the past decade. For a pause, the air around them sighed in the release. There was a moment of subconscious understanding between the angel and the demon.

"Aziraphale…" Crowley whispered. "That's not… what I meant."

"Sometimes, you're a terrible liar," Aziraphale responded in the same hushed volume. "Sometimes."

"I didn't actually go to Alpha Centuri, either."

Aziraphale gasped daintily. "And you don't even use your real name! Not that I blame you, but… oh, why do I even trust you anymore?" He sighed in despair, deflating a little after the short outburst. Aziraphale had never been good at being cold-shouldered, he was coming quickly to learn.

Crowley was quiet. It made Aziraphale nervous. "You trusted me?"

"No. Well, yes," the angel's words stumbled out. "As an… associate. We avoided Armageddon, and that's as far as it went. I trusted your abilities, not you per say." It was true, that Aziraphale did not trust Crowley fully. It would be a funny little world if angels went around trusting demons, but he still couldn't help but feel like he was telling a little bit of a lie when he said it.

Crowley fell into a contemplative silence for a moment, but almost as soon as he did, he began to feel fidgety. The words came forth before he could stop them. "What did I say that was so wrong? I can't apologise if you won't tell me!"

Aziraphale took in a sharp breath. His quick retort took the demon unpleasantly by surprise. "Perhaps I just don't want to give you the chance to apologise! Ever consider that – that I won't always just _forgive_ you?" As soon as the words left his lips he looked away, feeling the anxious need to get right on up and leave. Oh, but he knew that would be rude and he didn't want to be ruder than he already was… and truth be told, he didn't want this to end like the last time.

"You… don't have to forgive me. I don't really expect anyone to forgive me ever, rather." A pause. "Just let me apologise to you, though."

Aziraphale hesitated. Then he shook his head, the movement tentative. He immediately felt as though he had done something wrong.

Crowley's face fell, but the angel wasn't looking at him to notice. There was more silence. It was something he was coming to hate more than he already did; he had done quite a good job of avoiding it, but now it seemed to be a staple in his conversations. He tried to focus on the quiet lick of the breeze, the rushing of passing cars, or the quacking of distant ducks that understood they had been forgotten by the pond-sitters (two, now) and went off to find other lonesome people more worth their time.

"I did think of you," Crowley offered quietly.

Aziraphale almost didn't respond. "I thought of you every day. It was terribly lonely." He twisted up the bag of bread and set it back in the basket on the bench beside him.

Crowley's eyes, hurt and timid behind his dark shades, were fixed on the profile of the angel beside him. He was looking for something, any sign of a deeper meaning behind his words. He braced himself. "And how much did you hate every second of it?"

Aziraphale's response came swiftly, gentle and prepared. "Not much. It just… hurt."

"Did you want to hate me? Is it because you're an angel that you – that you convinced yourself that it wouldn't be right to hate me? You can, you know. I wouldn't mind, and you wouldn't be the first. And you know it's perfectly alright to-"

"I never _want_ to hate you," Aziraphale interrupted, shrugging slightly and dropping his gaze to examine the polished toes of his dress shoes. "I would rather hurt than hate you. But that doesn't mean that I enjoyed any moment of it."

"Well, do you hate me then?" Crowley was trying to make sense of the angel's standing before he began to talk about himself. That would have been awkward, if he had misjudged how much of his company Aziraphale was willing to tolerate.

Aziraphale scrunched his nose, trying to think of his response. He didn't want to word it improperly, but his feelings on the matter were so complex that he didn't know what the proper delivery would be. "I…" He sighed. "I'm hurt. I already said that. You _really_ hurt me, Crowley. But that's what you're supposed to do, being a demon and all. You said it yourself, "unforgivable" is in your nature. So no, I don't truly hate you. I suppose I'm just feeling towards you what I should, naturally. Opposing forces, light and darkness and things of that sort..."

Crowley felt the lump in his throat grow and looked away to clear his throat. "I'm sorry. Truly, angel. I would never lie to you, er, I try not to."

Aziraphale took a moment to respond. His words were like a rush of air, a clear breath. "I want to trust you again. You… were the only one, _are_ the only one, that's always there. Trusting you again would be… helpful."

The burn of desperation coursed through Crowley's veins. "What do I have to do then?" He sat forward, trying to catch Aziraphale's eye. "I have literally all of the time in the world, and I would spend every last minute doing whatever it takes, angel."

Aziraphale looked over at Crowley, his expression hesitant but contemplative. Crowley – for not the first time in his life – wondered what he was thinking. Sometimes the angel had such a peculiar thought process, it could often be difficult to follow; that, or simply difficult to reason with. Then, a pleasant shade of pink dusted the angel's cheeks, and Crowley felt his heart begin to race. What on earth could he be planning to make him get that adorably tentative expression?

"You'll have to go on a date with me. A perfect one."


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

"You'll have to go on a date with me. A perfect one."

Aziraphale looked over at Crowley as he said it, his heartrate oddly even. Crowley froze; it wasn't the enormous reaction that Aziraphale had been expecting, and deep down hoping for, whether it had been adamant refusal or flustered acceptance. He just seemed stuck, like his brain had shorted out for a moment. Aziraphale tilted his head, patient, smug even. He had the satisfying feeling that one gets when they know something that the other didn't and have just absolutely stumped them with the revelation of this new fact.

"Fine," Crowley said after a moment, adjusting his posture on the bench to another poor one that had to be drastic for his lower back. He looked out at the duck pond calmly, but from the profile Aziraphale could see his jaw clench, and it seemed like every muscle in his body was focused on keeping his left knee from beginning to bounce with nervousness. He had agreed without realising what he had been agreeing to, Aziraphale concluded. It made his heart leap a little. It was cute.

But then, looking back at the pond and folding his hands in his lap, Aziraphale added, "Just to make up for the poor one I had with David." He should have said that before he stared at Crowley for so long.

The demon deflated as he responded, and the angel chose not to analyse if it was from relief or disappointment. "Right, of course, of course, just to make up for it…" His voice began to drift into a mumble, something that Aziraphale had learned over the years signalled that he was awfully disinterested or very uncomfortable; and he didn't think that this was something Crowley would find entirely boring. "And his name was David, then?" The demon prodded. His tone seemed threatening.

"Yes, and that's all I'm going to say. Forget it, Crowley, and don't you dare do anything. Leave the man alone." Aziraphale felt anxious, now that he placed his finger on the word. He hadn't exactly been thinking when he spoke earlier; it had just seemed like the right thing to say. Now, unsure with what to do next, he very nearly began to doubt his decision.

Very nearly – he would not doubt it, because he would never say anything that he believed was wrong, so it must have indeed been the right thing to say. By instinct, it must have been, yes. He wasn't _that_ out of practice, and certainly not around Crowley.

He put on a pleasant, slight smile, and tried to lift the silence. "So, um, you can start with walking me home. And the date can be on Friday night. But you'll have to plan the rest."

Crowley looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. "What, I'm not allowed to drive you? The car's all fixed and everything you know. It even keeps the songs what they're supposed to be."

"So, you're implying that I'd actually like the music?"

"Maybe, I don't think there's any bebop."

"I thought you said it wasn't even bebop in the first place?"

"It wasn't, I was just… oh forget it, the point is, I have a variety now."

"Well," Aziraphale stood. "I wouldn't want you to drive me anywhere anyways. You drive too fast, and the bookshop is close. Come along, already." He held his hand out. Admittedly, he had no idea what he was doing, but instead was resigning himself to follow the natural flow of the conversation. So far, giving in to his impulses had demonstrated that he in fact was far more comfortable with Crowley than he wanted to admit.

And that he had missed him dearly, too.

Crowley stared at his hand for a moment, then looked at him. "Seriously?" He was asking for permission.

Aziraphale heard it differently. He dropped his hand, embarrassed. "Sorry. Er – let's just be off then." He walked around the bench, heading for the cleanly paved path that wound through the park and eventually lead to the sidewalk on the main street.

Crowley cursed quietly and got up, nearly tripping himself on the leg of the bench before matching pace with Aziraphale. "What time should I come get you on Friday?" He asked lightly, looking at the angel to see his expression, hoping he didn't mess up with every word he said.

"Seven, it seems like a good time, yes?" Aziraphale smiled, small and pleasant. That was nice to see.

"Is this because of that holy number nonsense? I never got the fuss over a silly number, we all have to use them to count, and it only really mattered in the English numbers – well, Arabic, but you get the point."

"Heavens, no – er… well, no. It just came to mind. It's just a number to me, Crowley, my dear."

They walked in silence for a moment, Crowley's heart swelling a bit pridefully when he heard that Aziraphale had adopted the use of the old term of endearment, before Aziraphale cleared his throat expectantly. Crowley looked over at him, then ahead, then back at him, as if what he was missing would just appear.

"What?" He almost felt offended. What could he be doing wrong by just walking? Crowley contemplated whether to reach for Aziraphale's hand when the angel spoke.

"I don't like walking in silence. It reminds me of silent films." He looked over at Crowley. "That was your work, wasn't it? Ghastly. Brilliant, but such a tease."

Crowley scoffed in disbelief. "Excuse you, silent films are one of my best works. Do you know how many people got annoyed when the silence was broken? The joy of going to the theatre and popping a balloon… I've yet to recreate that feeling." He sighed longingly.

"Ah," Aziraphale countered smugly. "But you forget the answered prayers and joy when a shrieking toddler is removed from the room. Theatre security was our idea; lax enough to let food in, not enough to let children scream."

Crowley frowned. "Yes, and I believe my side came up with the constantly sticky floors. So, it would seem that you've won the current cinema…"

"It would seem, yes. But your side got the overpriced snacks. The snacks were our idea first but then you had to go and ruin that…" He looked down with almost a pout. "So, really, the cinema's yours."

"And the tickets!" Crowley exclaimed. "Have you _seen_ the prices on those? I actually thought they went a bit too far with that one…"

Aziraphale laughed softly. Crowley's heart skipped. "Yes, I honestly hand you theatres with no argument. Good work. Well, not _good_ work, _bad_ work, but commendable, I suppose."

Crowley beamed. "Thanks."

Aziraphale now had had a small smile on his face for the entire walk. Realising this made him smile more, only he looked away as it fell shy. "Why the flower shop, then?" He asked.

Crowley shrugged. "It seemed like the most un-demonic thing to do that I would actually enjoy." He mused.

The angel responded with a nod. "Ah, I see. Although, it is… rather slow, for you. I thought you'd have chosen a casino instead. Or a night club. Something involving the night life and its…" He sighed with a hint of disappointment, like a conservative relative at a family reunion. "Sordid things, rather."

Crowley bit his lip before adding slyly, "I can go slowly, sometimes."

Aziraphale turned his face away for a moment, allowing the bright flush of his cheeks to die down before he turned back to face the demon. "It's still odd. I'm just surprised, that's all. It's quite a change for only ten years."

Behind the circular dark glasses, Crowley rolled his eyes. "I've had plants for over forty years, angel, I've just made it a business in the past ten." He looked up when they reached the corner bookshop. Crowley's shoulders slumped just slightly; why did the end of this walk have to feel like the end of a date? The real date – well, pretend-real, since it was just to make up for the other one – wasn't even until Friday.

Aziraphale's smile turned slightly disappointed as well. "Thank you for walking me back. I had a lovely morning."

Crowley felt pressured to do something, to say goodbye in some special way, but instead he just blurted out "Yeah. No problem, angel."

"Friday, then?" Aziraphale asked again as he walked up the few steps to the door, taking the key out of his pocket.

"At seven," Crowley finished, hope lifting his tone.

The angel smiled. "I'll see you then." And he went inside, the little bell jangling as he entered, and the noise cut off as the door closed behind him.

Crowley had raised his hand in a wave, but it dropped to his side as the angel was out of sight. He let out a long sigh, turning on his heel and already getting frustrated with the lack of ideas – well, lack of _perfect_ ideas – going through his head.

And deep down, he couldn't ignore the hurt he felt from this whole ordeal. Crowley had really wished that if they ever went on a date, it would be because they both wanted to, and not because he was desperate for forgiveness. But people's minds could change, right? Best not let his hopes get dashed so soon. That would spoil the planning process. Usually, Crowley took pride in his planning skills, although most of them were for a malevolent, and at the least irksome intent.

This would be a challenge.

The sky was still grey, and as the Bentley's engine churned to life, and something besides Freddy Mercury's voice – it didn't matter who, if not him – spilled from the speakers, the ducks back at the pond wondered if perhaps they would be seeing less of those two from now on. Of course, there were more morose people to get bread from, but none had ever been quite as intriguing as those two, the ducks had learned over the years. Word had spread from pond to pond, and at this point, most of the aquatic birds in London were familiar with the pale angel and the red-headed demon, and many of them had been waiting for them to get hitched for years now. Those who were lucky enough to witness the pondside conversation today were eager to be the centre of attention in the coming weeks, recounting the reunion of the pond-sitters, and updating the others on the progress of the relationship.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **_**Hi! Bit of a short chapter, I'm so sorry for the slow updates!**

**While I generally update faster on my other works, I find myself lacking sudden inspiration for this since it is a much longer story, and I unfortunately have very, very few friends familiar with Good Omens for me to bounce ideas off of.**

**I promise Chapter 4 is on the way! Thanks to those of you sticking around, and newbies as well! **

**Leave a review if you liked it! I love hearing feedback.**


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

Friday afternoon, Crowley was nervous. Well, truth be told, he had been nervous all day. The flowers in the flower shop had noticed this, and for once they flourished their best not from fear, but by innocent compassion, trying to calm their anxious caretaker. To their dismay (but private relief), he paid them no notice. The most attention he did relay was his swift, but careful selection of a small bouquet. Aziraphale seemed to like those, so he intended on delivering well on the first date.

_First date_. He hadn't quite thought of it that way yet. Or, rather, he had thought of it so much that the words had almost lost meaning. But suddenly they sent a jolt of jittery energy through his nerves, pricking some level of brooding. The flora breathed a sigh of relief when the lock on the flower shop door clicked into position, and the thunderous sound of the Bentley roared to life, growing fainter down the street.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, was fussy. His entire wardrobe was nice; it was _too_ nice, and not nice enough, and nothing would do to comfort his racing heart or his sweaty palms. Finally, he settled on something that seemed almost bland, too normal – but Crowley wouldn't care, right? He glanced at the mirror and frowned at his own flustered expression. A few stern words with his reflection did the trick, and Aziraphale decided that his outfit was in fact fine, and that Crowley would appreciate it and yet not say a word, otherwise this wouldn't be a perfect evening. And it had to be perfect, otherwise they would have to do it over, and oh, while Aziraphale would love that… He shook his head to cut himself off, heading down to the large mahogany desk in his main-floor office to finish some work while he waited patiently for that handsome demon's arrival.

Merely moments after he sat down, he heard the low rumble of the Bentley through the sturdy walls of the bookstore. He sat up expectantly, but not _too_ expectantly, and straightened his jacket before going to the little coffee table in the front parlour, instead taking his seat there.

Crowley strode up the front steps with a confident swagger, yet only barely masking his nerves as he knocked on the front door. He rocked back on his heels and took a deep breath, then resolved that Aziraphale _must_ be waiting for him, at least expecting him, and he let himself inside. The little silver bell above the door jingled cheerfully, breaking the silence before it began. He saw the angel seated by the window, and his heart lurched out a few painstaking beats before Crowley said bluntly, "Ready?"

Aziraphale smiled, his perfectly white teeth flashing brilliantly, as he stood, fussing with straightening his jacket one last time. "I am. And you're right on time…" Somewhere deep within the bookstore, a clock richly chimed seven.

"Good, we have a reservation to make," Crowley turned on his heel, polished black shoes soundlessly spinning on the fine hardwood floors. Then he hesitated, shoulders rising in a subtle cringe, before he turned back to Aziraphale. His cheeks were dusted with the softest shade of rosy pink, matching one of the pastel carnations within the bouquet in his hand.

(As adamant as Crowley was on ensuring the perfect setting for each flower in any bouquet, he hadn't been able to resist the slightest cliché of adding three gentle carnations to the display. They were innocent and tentative, _shy_ in the purest form that a flower can be when being used as a gift. Well, that and daisies, but Crowley had always had a personal distrust of daisies. It was a grudge that took centuries to form and would take centuries to dissolve. They weren't _awful_, it was just the way that they peeked up so suspiciously from behind the base of trees, the beaming and Cheshire petals honestly _looking_ like they were hiding something. So, it seems that they weren't innocent. Daisies were _far_ from innocent; they were schemers. Carnations were therefore the obvious choice.)

Crowley extended a hand to Aziraphale, glaring behind his shades for the split second that it took to still the tentative tremors. Aziraphale's pale eyes sparkled, impressed, and he beamed, silently accepting the offer. Crowley's hand was slightly larger, and the angel's fit perfectly into it; soft and gentle, but his grip was a firm pledge.

They stepped out into the dusk London light, the comfortingly warm air greeting them. Crowley cleared his throat, glancing back at the sleek black shine of the Bentley, reflecting the fading sunset and the light of the streetlamps, freshly illuminated. "It's a nice night, and not far. I figured we could walk…"

"Of course, I'd never let you drive me anyhow. That would have been a mistake," Aziraphale smiled playfully.

"One day, I'll get you to love her." Crowley tried to mask his defensive tone, but he truly was oblivious as to what the angel had against his beautiful car.

"It's not the car that I dislike."

"So, it's me, then? Harsh, Angel, we're on a date."

"Of course not!" Aziraphale's cheeks flushed, but he quickly regained his composure, elegant and refined – well, as he convinced himself – as always after his tiny outbursts. "It's your driving, it's abysmally reckless."

"I know my way around this city, this country… I wouldn't put my car at risk, you know that." Crowley rolled his eyes, painfully aware that he was still gripping Aziraphale's hand and silently begging that this small talk wasn't setting the wrong mood.

Aziraphale snorted quietly, a laugh escaping his soft lips. The lips that Crowley's eyes were briefly drawn to. "You drove that car through an impossible wall of fire and then some, holding it together by… well, admittedly I'm not even sure. All the same, you knew what you were doing."

"Ah, but the kid fixed it, didn't he! If I hadn't have driven the Bentley through that mess, neither of us – me nor the car – would have survived, really. Not you, either. So, it all worked out in the end!" Crowley huffed indignantly. "The point is, I won't put her through that again."

"I would hope that you wouldn't set the M25 ablaze again." Aziraphale fought another laugh, and Crowley was put at ease. He was having fun with it, that was good. And something about that laugh… Aziraphale raised his hand to cover his mouth whenever he did that particular giggle, as if apologetic for it. It was almost, dare the demon say, adorable.

_Yes. He dared to say so._ In his own thoughts – for now.

"_I _wasn't the one that set it on fire."

Aziraphale raised a finger, "Ah, but you _were_ the one who designed it. Terrifically commendable work, truly awful. Still, you made yourself an accomplice in that regard."

"Fine, you win." Crowley grumbled.

They walked in a comfortable silence.

Aziraphale broke it.

"Where are you taking me tonight, Crowley?" He wondered, glancing around at the familiar buildings for a sign, a giveaway of what surprises the demon had planned for the evening.

"The best sushi place in London," Crowley couldn't help but sound proud as he said it. "Apparently, they've got the most authentic stuff in the western hemisphere."

Aziraphale's pale eyes brightened, shining enthusiastically. "Ah, Matsudoshi's Sushi. A favourite of mine." He couldn't deny that he was excited to be going for sushi, and not having to pay for himself would be quite nice as well. That is, if Crowley was intending to pay. Surely, he was. That was necessary in the agenda of the perfect date, and the demon knew that.

What could he find wrong about this date, then? There had to be something… Aziraphale's heart jumped for a moment. He had to find something wrong with it. Otherwise…

"Have you ever had sushi before?" The angel inquired.

Crowley's answer came delayed, as he decided whether to be honest or choose the more impressive answer. He chose the truth. "I've had fish. Can't say I've ever had sushi."

His response received another perfect smile. "Excellent. You'll either fall in love with it, or I'll get to see you embarrass yourself. I win either way. This will be…" No, it couldn't be that. Not yet. Aziraphale's sentence trailed into silence. It hung heavy, simply an uncomfortable pause, as the two pondered the intent of that silence.

The demon's gaze was fixed on the dull grey sidewalk in front of them, shadows beginning to drag across its bleak surface. In a moment, it suddenly shifted to the bright bouquet in his left hand. He blanched, realizing he had forgotten this whole time to give it to the angel and oh – they were a glaring accusation of his mistake. Crowley cursed under his breath, scowling at the blooms, before shoving them awkwardly towards Aziraphale. "Oh, er, these are for you."

Aziraphale nodded knowingly, obviously as he had been waiting for Crowley to notice what he had forgotten. A soft chuckle escaped into the air between them, amused at Crowley's endearing blunder. "I figured. Thank you, they are lovely…" Something about the way the demon was trying so hard, about how he was contemplating, hesitating at every step and every motion, was just so precious to the angel. He was being forced into vulnerability and yet not backing down, instead tiptoeing cautiously around the lines of "date", and wobbling on the definition of "perfect". The blush on his cheeks seemed now a permanent sentiment, a staple since the night began, and Aziraphale was tempted to not allow its escape.

"You'll have to carry them now…" Crowley awkwardly rubbed his now free hand over the back of his neck, his slender fingers briefly tangling in the ends of the soft red hairs at the base. Once he managed to tug his hand free, he tried to keep the momentary irritation out of his voice as he responded, "I guess I meant to give them back to you at the bookshop."

Aziraphale assured, "It's fine, it's quite alright actually, see?" When Crowley gazed back at the bouquet, the stems were nestled snugly in a slender vase held in the angel's hand. "Now we can set them on the table at dinner, and they won't wilt as quickly."

"You… actually want to keep them?" Crowley's tone was incredulous.

"Certainly, I do!" Aziraphale huffed back. He was almost offended that the demon would suggest he throw away such pretty flowers, but he quickly understood that Crowley was just apprehensive. Aziraphale quickly smiled again, subtly, touched by Crowley's new, shy demeanour. "As I said before, they're lovely…"

"Oh," Crowley could not help but once again feel the swell of pride in his chest from receiving the compliment. He was about to continue their light conversation when they turned the corner, coming upon a small brick building. Crowley quickly stepped forward to open the even smaller door, revealing an interior of bronze lighting and soft, tranquil music. "After you, Angel."

Aziraphale smiled, despite being only slightly disappointed that the rather enjoyable walk had come to an end. He nodded at Crowley, "Why, thank you," and stepped inside.

There were only a few feet of cramped distance between the front door and the small podium where the small hostess stood. She beamed as the two men entered and chirped out a greeting in English, seasoned with a prominent Japanese accent. "Hello! Do you have reservation?"

Crowley took his position at Aziraphale's side. "Yes, a reservation for two at seven. It's under Crowley."

The hostess searched for the name in a leather-bound guest book sitting atop the podium. "Crow…ley. Yes, right here. Come, I will take you to the table." She grabbed their menus and gestured for the two to follow.

* * *

Weaving between quaint little tables, Aziraphale recognised some of the waiters, waving politely. They waved back, cheery smiles in place as they bustled about, despite there only being a few other patrons scattered throughout the dining space. Crowley held his hand once again, a light squeeze of pressure added to the touch as if he wanted to make whatever was happening obvious, but instead had decided against it. The demon resigned to keep the gesture between them, unreluctant but sweet.

The guests' light conversation mixed delightfully with the lulls of soft music playing, and the clatter coming from behind the counters as the chefs chopped and rolled the sushi for the open eye to see. The countertop was a starch white, reflective and brighter than any other surface in the dimmer, cosier surroundings of the restaurant. Inside, surfaces steamed and sizzled, knives chopped at rapid, methodical rates, and colourful platters were whisked out to be served. Crowley watched, inspired and oddly unnerved, doubting for a moment the nature of what he was about to undertake. Perhaps being a sushi fanatic was more daunting than he had anticipated… Crowley glanced at Aziraphale for any insight. The angel looked content and smug. The demon cursed quietly under his breath, a mere whisper of sour air.

The hostess set down the menus at a booth near a window, the streetlights having come on to illuminate a walking path behind the restaurant that led into a nearby park. Aziraphale smiled calmly and took his seat, Crowley soon following his lead while looking neutral albeit failing to mask the undertones of concern.

He picked up the menu an cleared his throat, tapping his slender fingers over the back of the binding. "So… do you come here often?" It was a genuine question as well as an awful pick-up line, but Crowley could not blame himself for beginning to slip up. _This was what Aziraphale had wanted, right? Perfect? What's more perfect than a little honesty, then?_ He could only hope that it was endearing and not horribly awkward.

Aziraphale nodded, eyes scanning the menu absently, as if he had already decided what he would be ordering. "It is one of my more frequent choices, although not the most. I like to keep it special." He glanced up to meet eyes with Crowley, a light, amused smile dancing on his lips. "And that was a very clever choice of words."

Encouraged by his response, Crowley smirked. Confidence was creeping very slowly back into his attitude. "Angel, you've got no idea what I can do with my words."

Aziraphale's cheeks flushed slightly, although he recognised that he should have known better than to doubt Crowley's wit. The angel cleared his throat quietly before laying down the menu, placing his hands gently on top of the thick pages. "I'm going to teach you how to read a sushi menu, so do pay attention now, will you?"

Crowley nodded and scoffed quietly, looking down. "How difficult can it possibly be, you just pick something and… Well, you know best then." The last phrase came mumbled as Crowley realised that he actually did not know what some of the things on the menu were. The syllables all began to run together, and he sorely regretted never getting around to learning Japanese, or spending too much time at the archipelago for that matter. Every experience counted, and Crowley cursed himself once again for not taking advantage of the past few centuries to learn something that would help him not feel so much like an idiot now.

Little did he understand though that while knowing the words used to describe the rolls would be helpful, in the end it never made too much of a difference, as anyone who has ever gone to get sushi understands. One may have an idea on if the roll is fried or rolled in rice paper or has a large, strange fish part coming out of it, but that never prepares a real sushi diner for the taste. Every order is a gamble, and while knowing the differences may bolster a false sense of bravado, it never really matters. Experienced sushi patrons understand that one's taste buds must be open, and in that case, one will generally appreciate whatever is put in front of them, regardless of what it is. Or rather, that it's just better not to think about it. Aziraphale was one of these appreciative, frequent customers, and considered himself an expert; granted, he had in fact been there when the first stall was opened in Edo, and had been one of the great Hanaya Yohei's first customers in the early 1820s. While being more well-versed in the ingredients helped, Aziraphale found his expertise stemming more from a long-lasting respect and open-mindedness.

"Any recommendations?" Crowley asked dazedly after Aziraphale had concluded saying something about the difference between tempura and something he couldn't recall well enough to pronounce.

"We'll start with something bland, vegetarian perhaps, then something milder," Aziraphale peered at the menu once more before closing it with a smile. "And then something fun, just to test you."

"Have we ever compared our ideas of fun, just to be sure?" Crowley asked tentatively.

"I'm sure we have, no need to worry." Aziraphale's smile once again turned smug, refusing to be lenient on his intent to have demon expand his taste pallet. His attention then shifted to the hostess, who had returned as if on cue to place clear glasses of water at their places on the table. Aziraphale took only a moment to glance back at Crowley, before ordering in fluent Japanese.

Crowley only stared. He had no clue what the angel had chosen. He also had no clue that he could speak Japanese. He was not prepared for the amount of surprise he was receiving.

Aziraphale turned back to him with a playful smile once again tugging at his features. "Are you alright?"

"I'm, er, fine… good, actually." Crowley managed to squeeze out. "When did you learn Japanese?"

Pale blue eyes blinked in response. "During the Meiji restoration, after the shogunal rule was ended… That was our bit, Heaven's bit, didn't you know?" Aziraphale continued after Crowley gave him a blank stare, not following. "I was the boy's advisor. Well, one of them. Of course, it got sour after a little while but… I helped the good parts."

"Ah," Crowley spoke to bring himself from his stupor. "I was in America at that point, I think. Probably didn't hear too much about Japan."

"I suppose that would be true… regardless, that's when I got around to mastering it." Aziraphale shrugged and picked up his glass of water.

The demon followed his lead, holding his own glass delicately and glancing up from the ice cubes within. "Ever get around to mastering French?" A teasing grin crept onto his face.

Aziraphale let out a quiet, exasperated _mmph_ noise. "No, I never really bothered to. I got it too mixed up with Spanish in the end, and that's already hard enough with Spanish _and _Italian _and_ Portugese."

"You'd think knowing that many similar languages would help you learn it faster. I'm assuming it brought up embarrassing memories?" Crowley enjoyed teasing, but even more so when Aziraphale's cheeks would heat up to that adorable pink shade and the spark of defensive competition lit up his blue eyes. Something dangerously close to joy bubbled up in his stomach, but Crowley resolved to shove that deep down before he ate food containing raw fish. It probably wouldn't mix well. He continued, "Anyways, I always found French easier. I could never get my tongue to do the right things for Spanish."

"That's surprising," Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and took a casual sip of his water. "But you could still get your throat to do all the right things for French?"

Crowley felt whatever nine or ten pints of blood that were in his body go straight to his face, now burning a traitorous scarlet. He struggled to preserve whatever dignity he was entitled as a demon, "My throat _and_ tongue are very talented, I'll have you know… Just – not for Spanish." The line managed to get out with minimal flaws, and Crowley congratulated himself silently behind his water glass, taking a sip. As if for a moment the natural world was against him, the water slipped down the wrong pipe and Crowley briefly choked, coughing sharply into his elbow. _So much for 'talented'_, he scolded himself, glaring harshly at the water glass as if it was the sole perpetrator for this whole mess.

Aziraphale wanted desperately to respond but remained giggling as politely as he could behind his hand. His own face was red as well, flushed from flirting as well if not from just the hopeless laughter. Crowley felt a strange sense of deep satisfaction at seeing the angel's blush, but was brutally reminded that it was at his own expense and withheld a scowl. It _was_ sort of amusing; he would have to admit it if he were going to survive this date. And Aziraphale did seem to be enjoying himself.

Crowley warily downed half of his water glass, desperately trying to return his body heat to normal. "Alcohol!" At this point it was recognised that he was just speaking to overcome his embarrassment. "That's what I need. Does wine go with sushi?"

Aziraphale nodded in appreciation of the change in subject, his delicate smile still present. "Not exactly with what we ordered, but I would not be opposed to opening a bottle later back at the bookshop… I have a delightful Chardonnay that's been saved for quite some time now, I'd love to share it with you. Ah! Here comes our sushi."

The waitress smiled at the two guests as she set down the tray of sushi in front of them, the three rolls lavish in colours and in sauces. Crowley stared anxiously, as if the longer he stared at the sushi the more familiar it would seem.

Aziraphale stared anxiously at Crowley in turn. "Please tell me that you know how to use chopsticks."

"What – do I – of _course_ I know how to use chopsticks!" Crowley sputtered in response, attempting to salvage some aspect of his dignity in the process. In truth, he had never used chopsticks before, but stabbing things generally tended to go his way when attempted. Why would this be any different? Plus – if Aziraphale wanted to teach him _that_ badly, Crowley saw now harm in that either. Rather, he might enjoy it.

The angel smiled sympathetically, as if reading his mind. "You can't stab sushi, my dear. It'll crumble."

Crowley felt prickles of heat on his face from the resurgence of the nickname. "What if I'm really good at stabbing things?" His response had meant to come out sarcastic, a quip to throw the angel off his feet, but it instead had come out sounding small, a meek suggestion. Which only made the angel smile more; so, not too unfortunate of a failed attempt.

Aziraphale shook his head, still with that perfect smile on his face. "Crowley, my dear…" Swiping the chopsticks from the demon's side of the table, he swiftly broke them apart and began sanding them down. From behind his shades, Crowley watched sceptically until he passed the utensils back and repeated the same action with his own pair. Then, he easily took the sticks between his fingers and held them up for his companion to see, "Put one in between your thumb and middle finger, like this. Loosely, just enough to hold it as a base."

Crowley attempted to copy him, huffing in frustration when the stick kept folding wrong between his fingers. "I feel like sushi was meant to be finger food." He huffed, almost jealously. "Just putting it out there."

With a glint in his pale eyes, Aziraphale caught on easily. "You're only jealous that you've missed out on one of the subtly greatest human creations." That smug, teasing smile turned once again pleasant as he continued his demonstration. "Now, put the other stick on top of that, between your index and thumb. Your thumb is essential in holding it all together. And use your index finger to open and close them. Like so." The chopsticks clicked easily together in the angel's delicate grip.

With a scoff, Crowley attempted to regain some form of dignity as he fumbled with the chopsticks. "I have _not_ been 'missing out'. Whose idea do you think it was to eat crisps using chopsticks, anyways? This is…" He held his tongue to keep back the array of frustrated curses he so desperately wished to let out, but no – he refused to insult Aziraphale's company on this date.

It had to be perfect.

Which meant he had to try.

It didn't stop the nervous glance he sent upward at the angel, who sensed it despite the look being masked by the dark shades.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and sighed with a small smile. "You are insufferable. Just try it, go on my dear." He gestured to the bland sushi roll. "And don't mess it up."

"Was that supposed to be a warning? Nevermind – shut up and eat your own bloody sushi, Angel." This remark earned a laugh as the two fell into a content rhythm of munching the delectable sushi rolls.

Crowley had rather enjoyed the sushi, although he nearly snapped the chopsticks in half around the second bite. Wary glances from Aziraphale kept him at bay until he finally gave up and miracled himself a fork, easily then finding the perfect method of stabbing to keep the rolls together. And Crowley hadn't lied – he _was_ quite good at stabbing things. Aziraphale commended his innovative solution, although in reality it was quite simple.

When the amount of food on the plates between them began to dwindle, conversation soon took its place, reasserting itself as a major factor in the success of this date. The angel was the one to speak up first, after daintily, typically, wiping his lips on a napkin.

"So, I clearly know that you have the flower shop now…" He pressed on only after Crowley had glanced up from practically inhaling one of the spicy sushi pieces – his favourite out of the selections from this evening. "But what else happened in these past ten years?"

Crowley sat up, stretching back a little to allow his stomach to relax, and said indifferently, "Not much, really. I've mostly been left alone by the universe." This sentiment was accompanied by a passive shrug as he shovelled one of the last sushi bites into his mouth.

"Likewise." Aziraphale snatched himself a bite of sushi before it was all gone. He smiled softly, pensively. "Still, it is a shame that we didn't meet up sooner. Or…" Now his gaze turned downward. "Is it?"

Crowley hesitated, deciding now would be the best time to tread carefully with his words. Until a better time came. But for now, this was important. "The other day, I asked if you thought about me during those ten years because… I thought about you every day, Angel." He laughed, only traces of mirth in the dry sound. "I would've loved to see you sooner, believe me."

Aziraphale made a face, slightly pouty and slightly thoughtful, as if he were going to say something profound and bold. But he hesitated, leaving Crowley sore with curiosity, and fell back into casual conversation. While the air remained tense for a moment, it soon loosened up as banter filled the space and the two beings shared the ease of each other's company.

By the end of the meal, Crowley had suggested that the date not be over just yet, and seeing as they had walked there to begin with, there was an inevitable walk in the park that would initiate the second half of their evening. With a smile on each of their faces, Aziraphale's more confident and content, Crowley's apprehensive and shy (seasoned with blushed cheeks), the angel took the demon's hand this time as they exited the restaurant.

The cool night air met them, warm enough to be comfortable but brisk in that way only brought on by the absence of the sun, and they walked hand in hand towards the park behind the niche building housing Matsudoshi's Sushi.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **_**OMG! Thank you so much for waiting!**

**This chapter took so long to write... I don't know what came over me, but it just would not come out on paper. And it is so much longer than the others!**

**I do not know when Chapter 5 will come... but HERE. Chapter 4 is finally here. HAVE IT!**

**Thank you so much for those of you that have stuck around to read this, it really means the world to me. I love you all so much. 3**


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